


in another life

by Ryah_Ignis



Series: Season 13 Codas [22]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: 13x22 Coda, First Kiss, M/M, Sam Has a Friend!, anyway, bc they're so funny together, is it weird that I enjoy his relationship with Rowena?, like platonically
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-11
Updated: 2018-05-11
Packaged: 2019-05-05 03:17:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14608095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ryah_Ignis/pseuds/Ryah_Ignis
Summary: "In another life, he's just another cog in Heaven's machine.  Not for the first time, he thinks of the nine angels keeping the lights on and doesn't regret a thing."In which Dean thanks Cas for holding him together in the AU, and Sam and Rowena have a chat.





	in another life

In another life, he’s just another cog in Heaven’s machine. 

Castiel toys with the wrapper on the beer bottle Dean handed him a few minutes ago as he surveys the crowd of people.  A little over a decade ago, their humanity would have disgusted him.  Now, he looks out at each and every single little beacon of light and feels nothing but warmth.  They’re human, and it’s incredible.

Not for the first time, he thinks about Heaven’s nine angels and decides he wouldn’t change a thing.

Dean jolts him out of his thoughts. “Toss me the med kit, would you?”

Cas scoops it off of the map table it and hands it over.  Dean flips it open without looking, pulls out a roll of tape, some gauze, and a bottle of iodine, and begins binding the young man’s wounds.  As he works, he falls into quiet small talk, coaxing out the man’s name—Quincy—and where he’s from—Nevada.

In another life, Cas thinks, Dean Winchester is an excellent humanitarian aid worker.

“Good as new,” Dean says at last, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “Go get something to drink from Mo—from Mary.  You deserve it.”

Quincy offers a small smile and darts off to join his friends in their celebration.  There’s a softness in Dean’s eye as he watches him go that Cas doesn’t see nearly enough of for his tastes.

Without discussing it, they both start walking.  Dean maneuvers effortlessly through the bunker, handing out beers and exchanging snippets of conversation, even joking with a few of the more good natured survivors.  Cas follows in his wake.  He can understand their suspicion, but the wary gazes following him are wearisome.

“You’re good with them,” Cas says as they walk into the kitchen.

Given the craziness of the last few weeks, there’s not a whole lot there, but Cas sets about making sandwiches while Dean roots around in the freezer.

Dean shrugs. “It’s looking after people.  Doesn’t matter what universe they’re from.”

Cas pulls the peanut butter down off of a shelf and sets it beside the butter knife.

“And you made fun of me for buying all this bacon.”

Cas raises his eyebrows, but doesn’t comment as Dean starts pulling out the deep-frozen meat he’d bought last month (“It was on sale, Cas!  You don’t pass up that kind of bargain!”).  It’s far too much for the three of them, but compared to the twenty-odd people assembled in the war room, it doesn’t seem like very much at all.

“They’ll want showers,” Cas says.

Dean shrugs. “I still haven’t managed to figure out where the bunker’s hot water comes from, but I don’t think they’ll have a problem if it gets a little chilly.  It’s gotta beat wiping down in a stream.”

He can’t argue with that sort of logic.  Instead, Cas focuses quietly on painting peanut butter on each slice of bread, trying to spread it out as equally as he can.  Eventually, they’re going to have to make a grocery store run.

“Cas, I—I wanted to say thank you.”

Cas sets down his knife, wipes it on the cloth hanging off of the oven. “For what?”

“Back in the tunnel.  There was no way I would have kept going if it wasn’t for you.  Watching Sam—watching him—”

A muscle jumps in his jaw, and it takes him a few more seconds to continue.

“You’re the reason we—the reason I—could get to the camp.  Get all these people back here.  So thank you.”

 He’s still thinking about the other Castiel when Dean turns, leaving the bacon spluttering in the pan on the stove.  In his chest, the heart that doesn’t even technically beat stutters.  This is the reason this world is still whole, the reason he’s not that other Castiel.  This feeling, ­somewhere deep inside him, that the ­other angels can’t even begin to comprehend.

“Thank you.”

He doesn’t have to explain.  Dean knows.

Dean is very, very close.  Cas barely has time to think that his garrison of ten years would have no idea what to think of him now when he leans forward.

The bacon burns, but no one from the other world seems to care.

* * *

“He didn’t come through,” Rowena says, keeping her voice as nonchalant as she can. “Where is he?”

She observes Sam carefully over the rim of her glass.  The boy thinks he’s some sort of master at hiding his emotions, but he telegraphs them clearly enough for her.  She’s attuned to even the smallest flinch.

Rowena can’t blame him.  She’s holding her glass tight enough to shatter.  She needs him to be dead and gone.  Surely they managed that.

“He’s locked up.”

The unspoken, _not that that’s ever worked before_ , doesn’t sneak past Rowena.  She takes a sip of the whiskey, wishing it weren’t so watered down to accommodate a little for everyone.  It barely burns going down her throat.

“Ah.”

Sam doesn’t quite look at her when he continues. “If he gets through again—if Michael hasn’t killed him—I’m not going to let him near you.”

Funny, that this is the man who’s supposed to kill her someday.  It’s hard to believe when he’s acting so…chivalrous.  She takes another sip of whiskey, wondering if it’s one of the bottles Fergus had squirreled away in this bunker of theirs.

“Your soul seems a wee bit…loose,” she comments once the silence has dragged on too long and Sam still doesn’t seem ready to walk away.

“Vampires.  He brought me back.”

One of Sam’s large hands comes to rest unconsciously on his throat.  Rowena’s lungs constrict at the thought of what it would feel like to have Lucifer’s hands on her soul—or whatever is in there anymore.  She can’t even imagine how Sam is walking.

“You sealed him up,” she says at last. “He’s stuck.”

“And you got him away from you.”

Rowena inclines her head. “Not purposefully.  I _am_ sorry about that, you know.”

He smiles, then, properly. 

“Guess we’re even, then, huh?”

With that, the smile turns into an almost playful smirk before he goes off to talk to the woman Rowena guesses is Mary.

Is it a sign she’s going soft that she smiles back?

 


End file.
